Hey 😊 I’m Rina. This blog is 18+ ONLY. As a warning, a lot of my works contain dark themes (stalking, obsessive behavior, the yandere trope, etc). You can find more of my writing on AO3.
Thank you for reading!
Last updated: August 8th, 2026
Benjamin Poindexter
affection: To most people, you are entirely unremarkable. Unfortunately for you, Dex isn’t most people. Originally a multichapter story turned into a oneshot - Content warnings: stalking, emotional manipulation, some brief sexual content, 18+ only.
tidal: In which your coworker ruins your life, and the lives of many others. Warnings: stalking, obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
Billy Russo
with you in my head: Tired of being controlled and manipulated, you plan on leaving your fiancé. He doesn’t make it easy. warnings: abusive relationship, controlling and obsessive behavior, 18+ ONLY.
Bucky Barnes
in another life: yandere/dark!bucky barnes x reader: You meet, fall in love with, and break things off with a time traveler from the 40’s, armed with Stark Tech, capable of traveling to alternate universes. He’s not exactly great at handling rejection. warnings: kidnapping, implied violence, 18+ only.
boyfriend: yandere Bucky Barnes x reader: Bucky likes to think of himself as your boyfriend, and as your boyfriend, he just wants you to be happy. warnings: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, obsessive behavior 18+ only.
and it never goes out: yandere/dark!Bucky Barnes x reader: You’ve forged a close relationship with Bucky. Unbeknownst to you, your meeting was a lot more calculated than you realize. Warnings: non-con elements, stalking, emotional manipulation, grief. 18+ only.
Bruce Wayne
afraid: yandere/dark!Bruce Wayne x reader: You’ve struggled with anxiety all your life. It seemed to dissipate when you left a controlling relationship with your lifelong friend (and later fiance), Bruce behind. But when he manages to track you down after years of being apart, you can’t help but feel completely and utterly terrified. warnings: non-con elements, kidnapping, stalking, obsessive behavior, stockholm syndrome, mental health issues. 18+ only.
Bruce Wayne x reader x Clark Kent
blue christmas: yandere Clark Kent x reader x yandere Bruce Wayne: You move to Gotham to escape Metropolis—or rather, your unhinged ex-boyfriend, Clark, who lives in Metropolis. Even with its bad weather and soaring crime rates, you would take living in Gotham over being stalked in Metropolis any day. Until, that is, you attract the attention of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne, who takes an unhealthy liking to you. warnings: non-con elements, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
Charles Xavier
vertigo: dark!Charles Xavier x reader: Charles wants to be your whole world. warnings: mind control, obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, 18+ ONLY.
Clark Kent
sweet disposition: yandere/dark!Clark Kent x reader: In the throes of addiction, you’re desperate for a change. Your childhood friend is willing to help you with that. Originally a 3 part story turned into a oneshot. Warnings: drug/alcohol use, addiction, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, stockholm syndrome. 18+ only.
temperance: yandere/dark!Clark Kent x reader: Your coworker’s “little” crush on you has really gotten out of hand. Warnings: stalking, emotional manipulation, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
Harry Osborn
midas: yandere Harry Osborn x reader: You break up with Harry. He’s not exactly proficient at handling rejection. Content warnings: abusive relationship, obsessive behavior, mental health struggles. 18+ only.
Felix Catton
enjoy the silence: yandere/dark!Felix Catton x reader: Your best friend, Felix has had feelings for you for quite some time now. When your boyfriend breaks up with you around the holidays, he sees it as the perfect opportunity to invite you to Saltburn and tell you how he feels. But when things don’t go as planned, he decides to take matters into his own hands. Because in spite of his generosity, Felix isn’t above a little emotional blackmail. Content warnings: emotional manipulation, blackmail, obsessive behavior. 18+ only.
Frank Castle
nightmare: dark!Frank Castle x reader: Frank is sorry he has to do this to you, he really is. At least, that’s what he tells himself…and you. warnings: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, 18+ only.
rabbit heart: dark!Frank Castle x reader: Frank makes your life easier in a lot of ways. More difficult, too. Much more difficult. warnings: controlling/obsessive behavior, brief sexual content, 18+ ONLY.
Matt Murdock
make damn sure: yandere/dark!Matt Murdock x reader: You call your ex-boyfriend in a moment of weakness. You live to regret it. warnings: abusive relationship, choking, emotional manipulation, 18+ only.
revolving door: yandere/dark!Matt Murdock x reader: Your best friend confesses he has feelings for you. There’s more to it than you think. A lot more to it. Warnings: sexual content, choking, obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
all around me: yandere/dark!Matt Murdock x reader: You were one in the same, you and Matt. Kindred spirits, bound together with invisible string. Neither of you could sever that tie. You couldn’t. He wouldn’t let you. Warnings: dub-con/non-con elements, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, 18+ only.
alone: yandere/dark!Matt Murdock x reader: Your anxiety prevents you from going out, until one night you do. You wind up developing a relationship with none other than masked vigilante Daredevil. He protects you, but at what cost? contains: obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, social anxiety, agoraphobia, 18+ only.
devil's night: yandere/dark!Matt Murdock x reader: Your marriage has gone up in flames—literally. warnings: obsessive behavior, arson, 18+ only.
Peter Parker
the brightside: dark!Peter Parker x reader: In the throes of grief, Peter finds solace in his favorite person—his new neighbor across the hall. What he hadn’t expected was for his crush to turn into a full blown obsession. Content warnings: stalking, obsessive behavior, domestic violence, kidnapping, mentions of suicide, murder and non-con elements. 18+ only.
hero/heroine: As a daily patron of the coffee shop you work in, Peter Parker is trying but failing to form a connection with you. He feels invisible in your presence. You have, however, forged an unlikely friendship with none other than your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. How Peter is going to bridge that gap, he has no idea. Contains depression, grief, angst. This blog and all my works are 18+ only.
crybaby: dark!Peter Parker x reader: You’ve tried your best to leave your ex-boyfriend in the past, but he just keeps resurfacing. warnings: obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, 18+ only.
fear: yandere Peter Parker x reader: You don’t love Peter. You could never, not after everything…right? Content warnings: kidnapping, unwanted touching, obsessive behavior. 18+ only.
Sidney Crosby
unrequited: Jealousy looks good on Sid. Includes brief sexual content - not super explicit, however this story and blog are both 18+ ONLY.
Steve Rogers
when the sun hits: dark!Steve Rogers x reader: Your best friend may not be as innocent as he seems. Content warnings: obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
Tony Stark
premonition: dark!Tony stark x reader: Tony Stark is in love with you. Terrified of the prospect of you leaving, he sets a plan into motion that could be considered unethical. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. A little. As far as Tony is concerned, being the bad guy isn’t really so bad when the ends justify the means. Warnings: manipulative/obsessive behavior, mind control, 18+ only.
Yandere OC
the house of reptiles: yandere OC x f!reader: Your neighbor is dead. That’s what everyone says, anyway. You’ve been tasked with cleaning out his bedroom, and in the process, learn much more about him than you ever bargained for… WARNINGS: noncon/dubcon, masochism, mention of choking, slapping, suicide, self-harm, stalking, obsessive behavior, 18+ ONLY. (faceclaim for the yandere character is hudson williams in my mind, but it doesn’t have to be for you!)
The man stumbling by came to a halt, now standing directly in front of you. You couldn’t know for sure, but you surmised that whoever this man was, he had certainly seen better days. He looked around your age, in his late twenties. His face was littered with cuts and bruises, poorly concealed beneath a black baseball cap. His right hand was wrapped up in an ace bandage and he seemed to be walking with a limp, causing him to trip and fall onto the grass mere seconds earlier. To his credit, he recovered quickly. He dusted himself off and surveyed the area as inconspicuously as he could, checking to see if anyone spotted him.
Evidently, someone had.
“See what, exactly?”
You stopped reading your book and looked up at him.
“Some poor guy faceplanting out of nowhere. Didn’t see a thing.”
He chuckled to himself, crossing his arms. He lifted his chin a little and nodded at you, as if challenging you. “Some poor guy, huh?”
“It would seem so.”
“Yeah, well this poor guy doesn’t need your pity. And he has a name.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, excuse me. Some rude, unappreciative guy faceplanting out of nowhere. My mistake.”
“It’s Peter, actually. In case you were curious.”
“You wanna know something?” you asked.
“I think I’m probably gonna hear it either way.”
“I got a top tier view of you wiping out earlier. But fortunately for you, Peter, I’m an exceptionally nice person. So of course I’m going to pretend that I didn’t see a thing.”
“An exceptionally nice person,” he echoed. “You got proof of that?”
“I didn’t laugh at you.”
“So?”
“I could’ve.”
“Did you want to?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to admit to that one. You look pretty scrappy. Rough night?”
He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Oh, you have no idea.” And then, as if saving face, “You should see the other guy.”
He studied you, a lopsided grin on his face. Beneath the injuries and the slouchy posture, you could tell he wasn’t bad looking. You would argue that he was pretty good looking, in fact. His eyes were dark. Warm.
“Have you got one?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.
“An embarrassing fall story?”
“A name.”
“Oh. One of those. You know, I might have one somewhere…”
“I’m sure you can tell my folks thought long and hard before deciding on mine.”
“Oh naturally, yeah. Peter. Very avant garde.”
“Conceptual.”
“Ahead of the times.”
“Peter. Peter Parker.”
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“Nice alliteration.”
He came a little closer. “What are you reading?”
You felt a wave of dread come over you as he eyed the brown leatherbound photo album, a book you had come to know all too well this past year. You protectively shoved it back into your purse. “Oh, this? This is nothing.”
He squinted. “Is that a photo album?”
You smiled weakly at him, zipping your purse closed and setting it down next to you. “It’s nothing.”
A gift from your late boyfriend, chock-full of memories you two shared together. You had bought him a disposable camera one year for his birthday, and he certainly put it to good use. Since his passing, you had spent hours scouring the album, tearfully flicking through the pages over and over again.
“Hold on a sec,” Peter said, reaching into the bag he was carrying to retrieve an ancient looking camera. He motioned towards you. “I’m a photographer by trade. May I?”
It took you a minute to understand what he was asking. Before you could give him an answer, he crouched down and the flash went off. Once, twice. He pulled the first photo from the camera and grabbed a sharpie from his bag, removing the cap with his teeth. He quickly scribbled something down on the back and handed it to you.
He fumbled when removing the second photo, dropping it amongst the leaves. It got picked up by the wind, floating away just as quickly as it appeared. He whipped his head around, standing up as if he was about to run after it, but you stopped him.
“Don’t worry about it. Some poor soul will find it.”
He grinned at you. “Some lucky duck, I’d say.”
You stared at him for a second, a little stunned. Was he flirting with you?
He put the cap back on the sharpie and shoved it in his bag, beginning to limp away from you. He peeked over his shoulder, giving you a nod. “I’ll see you around, hopefully.”
You shifted your gaze to the photo in your hands as he walked off, surveying the messy array of letters and numbers scrawled across it.
He had given you his number.
🕸️
Peter took a big gulp of coffee as he studied the photo.
Your photo.
Sat comfortably beneath an oak tree, surrounded by leaves of red, orange and yellow. You looked a little surprised, caught off guard.
Cute.
Luckily, it hadn’t been difficult to find.
He chuckled to himself, setting it down on the table. Strewn across it was an array of photos, all of which you hadn’t known about—you would never know about, if he could help it. This was the first he had taken where you were looking directly at the camera, the first photo he had taken in fall.
Fall, as he’d read, held some interesting meanings. That of transition, a time of harvest. An accumulation of growth, a time where crops were ripe and ready for the taking. It had been a year, more than enough time for you to process what had happened to you. You had to have been ready by now.
Peter hadn’t meant for things to go this far.
In fact, he had fully intended on saving your boyfriend. He tried. He really did, but he couldn’t. And at first, it ate him up inside. That was how he found you in the first place, tracking down your boyfriend (or as he preferred to view him, your ex boyfriend)’s loved ones, doing small, anonymous good deeds to help alleviate his guilt. Bringing your trash cans in from the road, locking your front door when you’d forgotten to, following you to make sure you got home from work safely.
But then things got a little out of hand.
Peter knew what it was like to lose someone, to be rendered unable to pick up the phone and call them when you needed them most. The loss of Gwen had been beyond devastating, and he’d never really come to terms with it. He empathized with you on a core level, eavesdropping on your grief support groups, the podcasts you listened to, your sad phone calls.
Following you became a bit of a compulsion. He was able to justify it to himself just fine, at least for a while. He was only protecting you, making sure you didn’t get hurt like your boyfriend…er, ex boyfriend did.
Through watching you, he quickly discovered something he hadn’t expected. It was hard to know someone so deeply and not invest in them. And then he began to do what he did best.
Take photos.
And oh, what a beautiful subject he had found.
Today hadn’t been the day he wanted you to finally see him. He had been in pretty rough shape, badly beaten from the previous night’s events. Just another day “at work.” He hadn’t meant to trip and fall in front of you, to make clumsiness your first impression of him. But at least you had a first impression of him now. At least you saw him. After all this time, after all this pining, you finally saw him.
And he saw you.
Now, all there was to do was wait.
🕸️
Peter leaned back against the same tree you were sitting under just a few weeks prior. He was trying and failing to focus on his book. Typically he would’ve been enthralled with a book like this, but he was feeling distracted as of late. He felt pathetic, continuing to follow you and wait by the phone for any type of interaction. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. You didn’t do anything. It almost made him a little aggravated with you, silently observing as you went to and from work, cooked dinner, and met up with your friends. Your phone was at your side at all times, and you hadn’t given a single thought to contacting him. Not even once.
Or maybe you had. Maybe you wanted to text him, but you were holding yourself back. You wanted to reach out to Peter. Surely, you did. You had gotten along so well, there was no way you hadn’t considered sending him a quick text.
Maybe you just needed a little push.
Naturally, he had to insert himself into your path again. But how?
As it turned out, this wasn’t nearly as difficult as he thought.
“Peter?”
You startled him, making him knock his head back against the tree trunk. You jumped, letting out a startled “oh shit!” at his misfortune. He winced from the pain and rubbed the back of his head, smiling up at you.
“Hello again,” he said, quickly regaining his composure.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.” You held your hands out and recoiled a few times, as if you were going to reach forward and touch him but didn’t know what to do. Peter scooched over slightly, motioning for you to sit down. You took a look around, almost like you were checking to see if anyone was watching before taking a seat next to him. You rolled your shoulders back, resting your head against the tree. You held up a small paper bag.
“Donut?”
He reached into the bag and retrieved one, taking a bite. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Thank god you’re here. They gave me two by accident.”
“Ah, yes. Thank god.”
You looked cute, he noticed, all bundled up for the chilly weather. You held a small cup of coffee in your hands. Your name was written on the back in black marker, comically misspelled.
“They must’ve been making up for spelling your name wrong.”
You raised your eyebrows. “How do you know they spelled it wrong?”
Peter shrugged, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Lucky guess. How are we this morning? You out for a little stroll?”
You nodded. “My watch says I’m at…” you paused to look at it. “Twenty thousand steps.”
“A big stroll, then.”
“It’s really more of a saunter.”
“A saunter? No, no. A prance.”
You nodded towards his book. “Interesting."
“Scandalous, I know.”
“I didn’t peg you as a science nerd.”
“Oh god, you have no idea.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the same sharpie he had used just a few weeks ago. “Sorry, it’s bugging me. May I?” You stared in confusion before he reached over to grab ahold of your drink. He crossed out the name and quickly replaced it with the correct spelling.
“All good?” he asked, handing it back to you.
You smiled and shook your head.
“No?” His eyes widened. “Am I wrong?”
“No. No, you got it right. Strangely enough.”
“I’m good with names.”
“Apparently true.”
“So, how have you been?” you asked. “Your, um. Your face looks better.”
He laughed loudly.
“The bruises! I meant the bruises, obviously. You look like you healed up nicely.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said. “I feel a lot better, that’s for sure.”
“Can I just ask—”
“I go to a boxing gym,” he said nonchalantly, as if it was the simplest explanation in the world.
“Jesus,” you lamented. “That’s just from the gym? You didn’t have an actual match? Don’t they make you use protective equipment?”
“Sometimes. I don’t always like using it. It’s too…I don’t know. Too clunky.”
“Huh. Well, to each their own, I guess.”
“What about you? You ever do something stupid?”
“Like what?”
“Like fight without protective equipment?”
“Oh, I’ll do you one better. I ride my bike without a helmet sometimes.”
“Ooo. Very dangerous, indeed.”
You thought about it for a second. “You know, it actually kind of is.”
“Actually? Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
You motioned towards his book. “So you like both science and violence?”
Peter laughed. “Apparently true.”
“Versatile,” you said. “I’m not really one to live on the edge myself.”
“No?”
“Music is more my thing.”
“Playing it or listening to it?”
“Both. I play piano. That’s my job. I'm an instructor. I teach people how to play.”
Peter smiled warmly at you. As if he didn’t already know. “That’s great.”
“What about you? What do you do, Peter Parker?”
“I’m a photographer at The Daily Bugle.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “And a journalist, but I enjoy taking photos more than I enjoy writing. It’s one of the few things I’m good at.”
You munched away on your donuts, talking like old friends that just reunited after a long time away from one another. In Peter’s eyes, you sort of were. He arguably knew you pretty well at this point. He knew your habits, your hobbies, your favorite hangouts. He knew what time you woke up in the morning and what time you went to sleep. He knew which friends you liked to spend time with. He knew that you came into work early and stayed late. He knew that you cried a lot when you were alone.
And he wanted to know more.
Against his better judgment, Peter decided to ask what had been on his mind for the past several weeks. His desire to know the answer was much stronger than his potential for embarrassment at this point.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I’ve still got the photo, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s on my nightstand.”
“No, it’s not that,” he said. “Although that’s nice to hear. I’m glad you kept it. I was just wondering—”
“You’re wondering why I haven’t reached out yet?”
Peter grinned at you sheepishly. “I know we only talked for two seconds, but we seemed to get along so well. I just thought maybe you’d shoot me a text or something.” His eyes widened and he put his hands up defensively. Great job, Pete. You just totally put your foot in your mouth. “Not that you owe me that or anything. Because you don’t. Of course not. I didn’t mean it like that.”
You chuckled. “I know you didn’t mean it that way. And you’re right, we do get along. Believe me, I wouldn’t have come up to you today if I didn’t like you.”
He instantly perked up.
“I’m just not really in a place right now to date, that’s all.”
“Oh. I see,” he said, trying to conceal his frown.
It had been a year. A year. How much more time did you need?
You sighed, fidgeting with your hands. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time coming over here. It was just nice to see a familiar face. I just moved. I’m new to this part of the city.”
“No!” he exclaimed, his voice coming out louder than intended. You jumped slightly, and he lowered his voice. “No. You didn’t waste my time. I’m glad you came up to me. I like talking to you.”
There was an awkward silence.
Peter was determined to break it.
“Even if you are completely reckless. You helmetless, piano playing heathen.”
You laughed. “Hey, at least I didn’t look like I just got hit by a truck the last time I saw you.”
Peter could sense that your conversation was soon coming to an end, and he felt a sudden stab of desperation. He had to come up with something quickly, something to grab your attention. Something to keep you invested.
“Look, I get it. The dating thing. I’m probably not in the best place to be dating, either.” He wasn’t lying per se. “But how about this. Would you consider being friends?”
“Friends?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Friends. I haven’t got very many of those.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Really? But you’re so nice.”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not the most outgoing person in the world. You were the one to talk to me first, remember?”
He could see the gears turning in your head. He wondered if you recalled nearly as much about your first interaction as he did.
More than likely not.
He had to come up with some way to get you interested in him, something to get his hooks in. And then it hit him, what the two of you had in common.
Grief.
He had spent hours upon hours beating himself up for not being able to protect Gwen. Hours upon hours missing her, wishing she was here. She never saw him graduate college. She never saw him get the job at The Daily Bugle. She never saw the photos he took, plastered on the front page of the paper for all the city to see. It hurt. Even all these years later, it hurt. He knew that telling you this would most certainly gain him some sympathy, but at least it was truthful. You knew that pain. You would understand, and you could both move forward. Together.
“My girlfriend, Gwen. She died a few years ago, and I pushed a lot of people away afterwards. I lost quite a few friends.”
Your eyes softened. “Oh, Peter. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He waved you off. “But yeah, like I said. I could use a friend or two. And you seem like someone I’d really like to get to know.”
“I don’t have a lot of friends, either,” you sighed.
“Yeah, but I mean you just moved, right? At least you have an excuse.”
“My friends don’t live far. I pushed them away, just like you did.”
“Really? Why?”
You stiffened up slightly. It looked like it was hard for you to get the words out. “I lost someone, too. My boyfriend. Nick.”
“Oh. Oh my god.”
Peter hoped he was feigning surprise well.
“He got mugged one night and tried to fight back. Things escalated.”
“I’m so sorry. Truly.”
“We were together for four years. I miss him every day.” You sniffed and wiped your eyes. “Where’s good old Spiderman when you need him, right?”
Peter’s stomach lurched.
You were both silent for a few moments, off in your own little worlds. And then you spoke, snapping him out of it.
“Hey, have you got your camera on you?”
Peter cleared his throat. “Oh. Um, yeah. Yeah, I do. Why?”
“Can I take your picture this time?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, of course.”
He grabbed his camera from his bag, holding it out to you.
“Alright. Think of something mildly less depressing, if possible,” you said. Peter took a deep breath and smiled. It wasn’t a big, toothy smile. It was subdued. Then the flash went off.
You flipped the photo over.
“Can I borrow your sharpie?”
And then he did smile. A big smile. A real one.
“But you’ve already got my number,” he said, laughing.
“Yeah, well. Maybe it’s time you reach out to someone else first.” You held out your hand for him to shake. “Friends?”
He reached back towards you, gently holding your hand in his.
“Friends.”
🕸️
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear—”
Peter’s face dropped as he took a good look at you, teary eyed and panicked. He set the small gift box he was carrying on the counter, quickly making his way towards you. He had heard of people crying on their birthdays. He himself had been met with some melancholy feelings on his birthday, usually related to his parents’ absence. Although not uncommon, this was uncommon for you. From what he understood, you seemed to really like your birthday. But today was different. You were different.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, shushing you. He pulled you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
You continued to cry.
He pulled away and looked down at you, brushing your hair away from your face. “What’s wrong?”
Your words came out in a rush, tears streaming down your face. “My photo album. Peter, it’s gone. It’s gone! I can’t find it anywhere.”
Peter suppressed the urge to groan and roll his eyes. Not this. Not right now. He knew you were going to figure out that it had disappeared one day.
He just hoped that day wasn’t today.
“Photo album?” he asked. “What photo album?”
It took you a while to explain things. Longer than he wanted, longer than he wanted to waste time on. But Peter digressed. At the very least, he was glad you felt comfortable enough to talk with him about it. It had been a full month now, one month of friendship. Ever since that last conversation in the park, you had been nearly inseparable. Peter had taken up space in your life. Not quite in the way that he wanted, but for now, just being around you every day was enough.
“Nick. I got him a camera one year for his birthday. He took a bunch of pictures and compiled them into a little photo album. It was one of the last gifts he gave me. Oh god…”
“Alright,” Peter said, keeping his tone measured. Even. The voice of reason. “Let’s not panic. Not yet. I mean, it’s got to be around here somewhere, right? Where do you usually keep it?”
“My bag. I always have it with me.”
There was a strange feeling rising in Peter’s chest, a burning sensation. What did it matter where the stupid little photo album was? You had him now.
I always have it with me.
Not anymore.
“Let’s just have a look around,” he said, his hands on your shoulders. “Maybe you took it out and left it somewhere without thinking about it.”
You shook your head. “No, I wouldn’t do that. It’s too important.”
He sighed and stepped away, absentmindedly opening and closing kitchen drawers. The burning in his chest began to slowly permeate to his stomach, his arms, his neck. Were you really serious with this? You had spent so much time together. How had you even had the time to notice it was gone? He slammed a cabinet shut as you continued to cry, startling you.
You were quiet for a few seconds.
“Peter, is something wrong?”
He ignored you, opening and closing a few more drawers, this time more gently.
“Peter?”
“Hm?”
“Peter, look at me.”
He rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck. He turned around and looked at you, trying his best to remain calm. “Yeah?”
“Is something wrong?”
“With me?”
“Did I do something to upset you?”
He scoffed. “What? No. Of course not. Come on, help me look for it.”
“Are you sure? You seem kind of off.”
“Just help me look for it!”
His words came out louder than intended.
There was a part of him, a very small part of him, that was screaming at him not to do this, not to lash out at you. But there was another part of him, a bigger part of him, the part that always seemed to win out in the end, that couldn’t take it anymore. He had spent weeks looking after you. Weeks talking to you and listening to you and making you laugh. Weeks allowing you to teach him piano (or rather, allowing you to attempt to teach him piano. He wasn’t very good), weeks exchanging stories and memories, dreams and aspirations and hopes for the future. Hours. Days. Weeks.
It was hard to know someone so deeply and not want to invest in them.
Still, it wasn’t enough for you.
Your eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“Why don’t you help me look for it, if you’re so concerned about where it is?”
“Excuse me? What the fuck?”
“It’s not like there’s a gift waiting for you on the counter or anything.”
“I’m sorry, what? What does that have to do with anything? Why are you acting like this?”
“It’s been a year!” he snapped. “You would think you would be at least somewhat over it by now!”
Yelled, actually. Not snapped. He had yelled at you. Peter had actually yelled at you.
His favorite person in the world.
Nice job, Pete.
You stared at him in horror. He wanted to die.
“A year since what?”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“No, Peter. Tell me. A year since what?”
“It’s nothing.”
“A year since what? Tell me. A year since what?”
Silence flooded the room then, loud and ugly and awkward.
“I didn’t mean it. I swear to god, I didn’t mean it.”
“Get out.”
Peter looked at you in surprise. He stepped closer towards you. You held your hands up defensively. “Just get the fuck away from me.”
“Sweetheart, I—”
“Get out.”
“Please, just—”
“Get out!” you yelled. “Get the fuck out of my house!”
The dark came early that night, the shortest day of the year. Peter kept warm by the fireplace, his favorite part of his house, watching the small, leather bound book as it burned.
You would never see it again.
🕸️
You wouldn’t talk to him. Wouldn’t see him.
But he saw you.
Peter had always seen you.
He always would.
🕸️
Peter wasn’t interested in writing. Photography was more his thing. He had surprised everyone at work, including himself. He received pats on the back, sympathy cards, hugs, letters.
The editorial was an emotional one.
A man’s harrowing experience of grief following the disappearance of a friend.
Those months without you were hell. However, those months without you provided the fuel he needed to write such a convincing article. They armed him with the motivation to do the unspeakable, to find you again. To see you again.
To help you see him again.
Lately, Peter felt different.
He felt alive.
🕸️
It had been an entire year.
One year since your life changed forever. One year since you met Peter.
You toyed with your wire headphones, plugged into a scuffed up, ancient silver iPod. Yes, an iPod. You had no clue where he’d gotten it. You were almost grateful Peter had decided to give it to you. Without it, life was quiet. Too quiet. Dead quiet.
He gave you access to the tv. He handed you a newspaper every once in a while. You almost hated him for it. You saw yourself on the news a handful of times, saw your photo in the paper. It was as if he was rubbing it in your face, gloating about getting away with it.
Peter didn’t see it, didn’t see you. He refused to. He came home every day with flowers in hand, delusional as ever. He was confused by your discontent, hurt by your rebuffs and rejections, big and small. He didn’t see you, not like you saw him. Not even a little bit. Not at all.
You were trapped. Confined. Stuck.
And no matter how much he claimed to love you, no matter how hard he may have believed it, there was one thing that rang true. Hollow inside, having disappeared from the world, your world, you had never felt less alive.
Trapped in a spiderweb, resigned to a fate that had been decided for you, long before you'd ever known the web was being spun.
🕸️
(this was kind of inspired by the nine inch nails song, dead souls lol)
